Spiderman's Cousin
by Becca118
Summary: The story of the cousin Peter Parker doesn't know he has. Rachel Parker lives in London, England, with her parents and aspires to work with animals. But sometimes you just can't escape the family genes... set at a non-specific point after the third film. Story image is a very bad drawing of the costume!
1. Chapter 1

Hi. I'm Rachel Parker. I'm in my final year of high school in London, England, but I was born in Manhattan in America and we moved over here when I was very young. Apparently the reason behind the move was my dad fell out with his brother and he wanted to move to get away from him- apparently the other end of America still wasn't far enough, so we changed country completely. I mean, I wasn't old enough to remember, but it seems a bit childish and dramatic to me. I don't feel like I'm missing much because I never knew what my old home was like, but I do wonder about the family I've got over there.

I remember the day my dad got the letter in the mail from his sister telling him that his brother and his wife had been killed in a car crash. I was only ten years old at the time, but I think that news came very close to destroying him- he'd never had the chance to make things up with his brother before he died. Aunt May also told him that his brother had a son the same age as me, and that they would be adopting him so that he lived with people who knew him and he was close to, rather than him being put into a care home and get adopted by random strangers who didn't know him at all. So I have a cousin my age back in America. It would be nice to be able to talk to him, to know him, as he'll be going through similar things to me; exams and graduation and all that jazz. But all I know about him is that his name is Peter. I don't have any faces to put to the names, and I've lain awake at night trying to imagine what my relatives in America look like. But I can't. They're basically strangers to me. If I were to see them in the street, I wouldn't know them and they wouldn't know me.

I'm studying Biology, English Literature and Animal Studies because after I leave here I want to go to the University of Greenwich and study Zoology and Animal Management. One day when I was walking through Oxford Street with my mum, I saw three abandoned dogs tied by leads to a lamp post with a piece of cardboard next to them saying 'Please adopt me, free to a good home!' All three dogs looked scared, lonely and skinny; life had dealt them a crap hand, but I knew that all they needed was a good home and feeding up and they would be wonderful. I begged my mum to let us take one home, but she's not confident around most animals, particularly dogs and horses, and although she could see how much it was upsetting me, she had to say no. She did let me phone the RSPCA from her mobile and tell them about the dogs, though, and we stayed until they arrived to take them away. That day opened my eyes to the suffering some animals go through every day, and since then I've always wanted to work in animal rescue, doing the same job those RSPCA people did for the dogs.

Tomorrow, we're going on a school trip to the London Zoo to see the animals they've got there and the research they've been doing. They've been working on genetically modified animals in conjunction with the University of Columbia in New York and the teachers have told us they have a surprise for us involving some of the tigers they have there. All the students have been trying to work out what this surprise involves- the only thing I can think of is that they've somehow done some genetic modification to the tigers, but I can't see how that works- they'd have to have some very powerful sedative to keep them unconscious for long enough to do it, and genetic modification hasn't advanced any further beyond insects as far as I'm aware, so it must be something else.

I should probably mention now that I'm not very popular- I'm five-foot-four, long light brown hair, I wear contact lenses because I was always teased when I was younger for wearing glasses. I was called a geek and a nerd, but even though I don't wear them anymore I still get called names because I'm one of the few girls actually good at anything science-related in my year. Most of them are into either Art- these are the sensible, down-to-earth ones- or acting and singing- these ones are all the preppy, oh-my-God-look-at-me type with the perfectly curled hair and the long eyelashes. Then there's me, stuck somewhere in the middle with nobody else in my 'clique', as the popular ones call it. So I'm on my own. I can deal with being on my own- I'm used to it. But the constant sniggers and the jokes behind my back do get me down. People would be surprised if they realised I knew what they say about me. They don't realise how quiet you have to talk for someone not to hear you.

The only feature I do have that makes me stand out are the streaks of golden-blonde running through my hair. I've asked my parents why I have them, and they've said it must be because of the hotter weather when we lived in America that used to make my hair go blonde in the summer. Somehow it's stayed even though the weather here in England is a lot milder. People at school have called them my 'tiger stripes' before, and I don't think that was meant to be a compliment. I've seen girls make claws with their hands and growl when they see me coming, then burst into fits of giggles. They make jokes about me being an animal, but the girls here are like packs of wolves, looking all cute and fluffy on the outside and then turning on you to rip you to pieces because they don't like the way you look or how you behave. I often wonder if the students at Peter's school are like this, or is it just an England thing?

It's just gone ten 'o' clock and I need to be at school for eight for the trip tomorrow, so I'd better go to bed. I've got everything packed, including my notepad and pencils as I'll probably try and sketch some of the animals on the coach for my presentation, so I just need to make my lunch in the morning. My iPod is already in the side pocket fully charged so I can put my earphones in on the coach and drown out the noise from the other students. Plus I can ignore the barbs they usually fling my way a lot easier as I pretend I don't realise they're talking to me. But I can always tell- everybody wears the same expression when they talk to me, except the teachers. I change into my comfy pyjama bottoms and a tank top, climb into bed and switch the lamp on my bedside table off. Minutes after my head hits the pillow, my eyes close and I'm asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

My phone wakes me up the next morning, playing It's Like That by Run-DMC. I know, I know, not exactly music girls my age listen to as far as I'm aware, but hey, I've found it's a good song to wake me up. I switched off my phone's alarm, changed into jeans and my favourite top, a long white one which goes to just below my thighs and has a grey cat on the front, and went downstairs to grab a quick breakfast. To my surprise, I find my lunch already on the kitchen table with a note from my mum telling me to have fun at the zoo. I see with relief that she's put an ice pack in next to my bottle of water to keep it cold as today has turned out to be one of the hot, sunny days where the temperature gets above 20˚C. That might not be much in America, but in England that's t-shirt and shorts weather. I pour myself a glass of apple juice and take my lunch out the hallway to add it to my schoolbag, which is already close to overflowing due to me being geeky enough to have done some research on the zoo one evening when I didn't have anything do and got bored. I really don't help myself sometimes, do I?

I down the rest of my juice and glance at my watch. Crap! I run into the kitchen, put my glass in the sink, grab my bag and leave the house. I run all the way to the end of my road and make it to the bus stop just as people begin to pile onto the waiting vehicle. A couple of students from my school glance to see who the late person is, realise it's me, and turn away, rolling their eyes. Once I came so close to missing the bus that the driver shut the doors just as I arrived and started pulling away when I banged on the doors. Luckily for me he stopped further down the street to let me on, but I've never lived it down. I just gave the other students more things to laugh at me about.

Once the bus starts moving I put my earphones in and stare out of the window all the way to school. The journey only takes fifteen minutes when the traffic's not too busy and when we get there, I stay in my seat until everyone behind me has gone past. Too many times I've stepped out into the aisle in front of someone and somebody else has stuck their foot out to trip me up; unfortunately they were usually successful.

I step off the bus into the gleaming sunshine and head for the car park where the coach is already waiting to ferry us off at half past eight, surrounded by students chatting to each other and the two teachers accompanying us standing off to one side. I recognise Miss Green, my Biology teacher, holding a register and talking to Dr Pritchard, the head of the Biology department. Miss Green is only in her twenties and she's nice- or at least, she is to me. She's kind but she does get very frustrated with the students who are taking Biology as something to fill in the gap in their options rather than because they actually want to; they always mess around, don't concentrate properly and take the notes they need to but don't participate when we do group tasks. This results in whoever I end up being grouped with sitting to one side having their own conversation while I do the work we've been set. I think Miss Green realises this, though, as she always gets them to read out the results from the work I've done and tell her what the conclusion is, which they hate because they barely have any idea what the experiment was, let alone what the outcome was supposed to be.

I walk over and stand under the shade of a tree near the coach, unnoticed by most except the teachers. I'm fine with that. Blending in and going unnoticed is far more preferable than being singled out for mockery, so I lean against the trunk of the tree, fish out my sunglasses and put them on. Miss Green looks in my direction and walks over.

"Hi Rachel," she greets me. "Looking forward to the trip today?"

"Of course," I smile.

"Have you decided what you'll write your report on yet?"

I nod. "I'd like to do it on the different species of cat they have at the zoo. They've got quite a few endangered ones which they're working on a breeding programme for, and it seems really interesting. I've already thought of some questions I'd like to ask," I added.

"That sounds great," beamed Miss Green. "If you need any help thinking of questions or what to put in your report, just ask. I'm sure if you're polite they'll be happy to share some of their research with you."

"Of course." I nod at her again and she moves back to Mr Pritchard, who clears his throat and raises his voice over the students to ask for them all to gather round so he can take a register. He whips through the names quickly and then ushers us all onto the coach. I quickly grab an empty window seat and put my bag on the seat next to me. After all, nobody voluntarily sits next to Rachel Parker. I stopped hoping someone would long ago; after all, I wouldn't want to engage in conversation with any of the people here. The girls are all too bitchy for my liking, and the boys are all egoistic jerks who engage in arm wrestles most lunchtimes to show off their muscles and prove who's strongest. Yawn.

"Hey, Mitch, why don't you sit next to Parker!" some boy yells from further down the coach. I peek round and see that one of the boys in my year, a boy of about five-foot-nine with dark brown hair and a handsome face, is paused in the aisle near a group of his friends. There aren't any empty seats near them; only a few spare ones at the back. And the one next to me. Okay, I admit it, there is one person in the whole of our year I wouldn't mind sitting next to me. I can count the number of people in our year who haven't joined in the teasing and the jokes on one hand- one didn't stay long enough to find out what they say about me, and the second was a foreign exchange student who didn't know enough English to understand most of the things they said about me. The third is Mitchell Darco, a boy who keeps himself to himself, hangs out with the middle group in terms of popularity and a boy I've never heard say a bad word about anyone. It wouldn't surprise me if he has joined in the jokes about me somewhere along the line- most people do just to fit in, but of course I don't hear everything that gets said about me. All I know is that he's never said things about me within my hearing distance, which the all students but these three have done.

I ignore the jibes, put my earphones in and press play, acting nonchalant, as if I don't care if someone chooses to sit next to me. Nobody does, so Mitchell must have found another seat. I relax and stare out of the window as the coach pulls away, watching cars and grey buildings go flashing by. It seems almost illogical that nature can thrive in a zoo so close to the heart of the city, which seems to be ruled by machines and rich men in expensive suits.

Even in the busy London traffic, the journey passes in a flash and the coach is pulling under a wrought iron arch into the car park. Some of the rowdier students start whooping loudly and Mr Pritchard asks them to calm down.

Once the coach stops and the driver opens the door, the teachers step off before the students quickly follow. I wait for everyone to pass as usual, and for one embarrassing moment Mitchell's eyes meet mine as he passes. Then they move on and he's gone, replaced by noisy, pushing boys. I get off the coach last and Miss Green moves round handing out worksheets on the information we need to gather during our day while Mr Pritchard explains the day to us- we'll be split into two groups and travel around the park in these groups, doing particular activities in the morning, meeting for lunch and swapping activities with the other group in the afternoon. With relief, I see that I'm in Miss Green's group, along with some of the girls from my Biology class, a few students from the year below me, and Mitchell Darco and two of his friends. I glance at the rest of the sheet; the work doesn't look too difficult. Most of the basic information about the zoo we need I've already got due to my research. At that moment, the teachers call for their respective groups to gather round and we set off around the zoo, seeing the gorilla kingdom, the reptile house and Komodo dragons, the squirrel monkeys, the otters and the rainforest life section, which was incredible- a living, breathing rainforest right in the middle of London! That was my favourite part of the morning, but I was looking forward to seeing the big cats in the afternoon the most. That and the special surprise planned for us, whatever that was.

We meet up outside the café and everybody spreads out to choose somewhere to sit. I head onto the grass and pick a spot next to the small lake. I fish my jumper out of my bag, spread it on the grass and sit down, or no doubt my mum would complain about the grass stains in my jeans. I'm just about to get out my lunch when, to my surprise, someone sits down next to me. I look up and find the chocolate-brown eyes of Mitchell Darco looking back at me.

"How come you're not with your friends?" I ask sceptically.

He shrugged. "They wanted to go off and play football, and they tried to get me to play but I'm not really interested. Besides, I thought you looked like you could use some company."

"Thanks," I say awkwardly. "But I take it you've heard the stuff people say about me?"

"Tiger stripes?" He grinned, and I glared at him. "I think they look pretty cool, actually."

"You do?" I freeze, wondering whether he's taking the mickey out of me or genuinely serious. "You're not joking?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"Everyone else does," I tell him. "I wouldn't blame you if you did too."

"I wouldn't do that," replied Mitch. "I prefer to meet people before I decide what I think about them, and I never judge books by their covers. So far, you seem nice."

"Thanks," I say again, humbled by his words. Somebody actually bothering to talk to me _and _be nice to me at the same time is something I'm not used to; not from students, anyway. It's only the teachers who do that, until now. My stomach growls slightly- luckily not loud enough for Mitchell to notice- and I get my lunch out of my bag. He gets out a sandwich and takes a couple of bites and then continues talking.

"So how come you don't make more of an effort to talk to people?" he asks. "Not that I'm being rude, I'm just curious."

"None of the girls in our year are people I'd be proud to say I'm friends with, let's put it that way. They all seem to be so… I don't know… concerned about their appearance all the time. And when I overhear their conversations, as soon as one of them walks out, one of the other girls will start bitching about her. I don't want to be friends with people like that."

"That's understandable," agreed Mitch. "What about the guys?"

"They all join with the girls," I say uncomfortably, thinking of his friends. "Only three haven't- a foreign exchange student, a boy who only stayed for a few weeks before swapping schools again, and you. Well, as far as I know, anyway. They could have talked about me out of earshot."

"I haven't," said Mitchell.

"So there's just one person in the whole school who likes me. Great," I sigh sarcastically.

"Better to have one good friend than lots of people you know," said Mitchell, surprising himself. He'd only been talking to this girl for fifteen minutes and already she had him wanting to dispel the loneliness surrounding her.

"I guess," I agree, masking my surprise. Mitchell actually wants to be my friend? More than that; my _good_ friend? Did he actually mean to say that? I can see some surprise in his eyes, and guess that he hadn't entirely planned to. But he wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it. Right? An awkward silence ensues until Mitchell suddenly breaks it.

"I didn't mean to blurt it out like that, but would you like to be friends?" he asked. "You seem like a really nice person and it can't feel too great having to sit on your own all the time."

"Okay," I smile. "That'd be nice, thanks." If it was anyone else, I think I'd feel offended by the obvious sympathy in his voice- I don't want anybody's pity. But he seems like a genuine person, so I can't really refuse.

"Cool! Anyway, I need to buy my younger sister something- I promised I'd get her a present from the gift shop, but I have no idea what to get her."

"I'll help," I offer. Mitchell beams at me and we pack away our eaten lunch and head to the gift shop, where we find a beautiful wooden carving of a penguin, her favourite animal according to Mitchell. He goes to the till to pay and comes back with a bag containing the little statue in a gift box and padded out with tissue paper.

"I think she'll love it," he smiles. "Thanks for helping me; it would have taken me ages to find something on my own."

"No problem."

As we leave the gift shop, the teachers call us over and we separate into our groups. Mitchell's friends appear and they stand next to him. I try to look like we just happen to be standing next to each other, but I can't shake my awareness of him, and I wish his friends had someone else to talk to so we could carry on our conversation.

Miss Green's voice catches my attention and reminds me about the tigers. Mitchell Darco disappears from my mind as she indicates a large, camouflage-green truck with the windows taken out and 'safari tours' painted on the side and we all pile on. A man is sitting in the driving seat and two young women are already in the back, wearing zoo uniform. I guess that they must be tour guides and hurry to the back of the truck to grab a window seat.


	3. Chapter 3

Fifteen minutes later our truck halts and one of the tour guides jumps out to open the metal gate of a huge enclosure, which stretches so far I can barely make out the fence marking the opposite boundary. The truck leaves the tarmac road created for it and bumps over the grass before stopping again to wait for the tour guide. She climbs back aboard and we set off. I watch eagerly for any sign of the tigers, but they must be in a different part of the enclosure. The driver seems to know where he's going though, so they must have some way of monitoring where they all are. After some more travelling, the truck stops and the tour guide sitting at my end of the truck stands up.

"Welcome everybody," she grins. "My name is Sara. You're probably wondering why you haven't seen any tigers yet, but they've decided to be difficult and hang out at one of the furthest points of the enclosure today. Anyway, we're about five minutes away from them at the moment, so I thought I'd take this moment to explain a little bit about them, as these particular tigers are rather unusual. They're not part of our main pride that are on show at the zoo, so feel privileged that the management has allowed you to see them. These tigers are a particular breed called the South China Tiger, which are endangered and efforts are being made to save them by managing a pride of them in Africa, which are where these animals have come from. A group of these tigers was noticed to have a genetic defect passed to the offspring of one male tiger which affects their bone structure, most noticeably in their back legs, making it difficult for them to run fast enough to hunt, and therefore to survive. The conservationists in Africa had to intervene and separate them so they could provide them with food while they searched for a way to cure, or at least counteract, the effects of the defect to prevent the number of tigers dwindling further. This group of ten tigers, including the original male with the genetic problem, are here in this enclosure, as the team in Africa discovered that a certain breed of the panther, the black leopard has the correct gene sequence in their DNA to cancel out the faulty genes, and London Zoo is well known for having the largest pride of these leopards in the world. It took a lot of hard work on the part of our team to save these tigers, as the donating panthers had to be put under sedative for us to procure the gene sequence, which then had to be replicated in our labs before inserting it into the tigers. They then had to monitored around the clock for any after-effects of the DNA modification, but we can now proudly say that this pride of tigers has an excellent chance of surviving thanks to their treatment, and just a few months ago one of the females successfully gave birth to cubs!"

Wow! I can tell a lot of people are stunned into silence, me included. I never imagined anything like this! This kind of news makes me want to start working with animals right away. Maybe once I've finished university I could even try and get a job here! But my thoughts are running away with me- I've got to pass my exams and then get through a three-year course yet. Sara nods at the other woman- Natalie, from her name badge- and sits down. The second tour guide stands up and continues from where Sara left off.

"Now you'll probably notice something fairly unusual about the cubs here today. Some of them have the usual orange fur with black stripes, but two of the cubs are, due to the black leopard genes in their DNA, black-furred; however if you look very closely, it is possible to see black stripes in their coat. As such, they have been named Shadow and Blackie by our members of staff because of their darker colour. Now, let us show you the tigers themselves!" Natalie sits down and the trucks move forward. I strain my eyes for any sign of the pride. I can't see any of them until my eyes focus on a patch of grass underneath some trees and suddenly they seem impossible to miss. Their beautiful orange fur glows in the sunlight and one stretches and yawns, showing his long, curved teeth and pink mouth.

"That's Saji, brother to the original male tiger, Sami," explains Sara, looking out of the truck with me. "We weren't sure if he carried the faulty genes so he came too, and he's the father of the cubs. The rest are probably close by. Saji seems to have appointed himself protector of the group."

"They're beautiful," I breathe as the truck moves round slowly to avoid startling the pride and more come into view, basking in the sun. The scene looks so beautiful that I unzip my backpack slowly, as if the tigers will hear a single noise I make and scatter, draw out my notepad and pencil. I begin sketching the outline of the mother resting in the grass, shading in her stripes and drawing the tree she is underneath. I add the cub jumping on her back and another one rolling about in the grass, glancing up at the scene every so often. My eyes focus on the shadows and I notice the outline of a crouching cub.

"Is that Shadow or Blackie?" I ask Sara, indicating the shape with my pencil.

"Well spotted!" she laughed. "I think that's Blackie. Shadow is slightly bigger."

I nod and add him to my drawing, writing Blackie above his figure. Sara looks over my shoulder and gasps.

"That's a fantastic drawing," she enthuses. "Would you be able to make a copy of that so we could hang it up in the office? We've got a few photos of the pride, but no drawings yet."

"Of course," I said shyly. "I could post it if you like. This is only a rough sketch, so it might take me a while to finish it."

"Sure," agrees Sara. "Can I look at it?" She seems almost nervous to ask, and I can't help but like her. I nod and hold the pad out to her, but before she can take it another hand swipes it from my grip. I jump off my seat and turn around, fists clenched, to see one of Mitchell's friends holding my notepad.

"That's a fantastic drawing," he jeers in a ridiculous impersonation of Sara. "Because weird loner Rachel never talks to anyone but can draw anything! Geeky nerdy Rachel!" I glare at him furiously.

"Give me the pad back," I say to him, my voice almost a snarl. I can see Miss Green behind him, about to approach and remind him of manners and get him to give the notepad back, but she's too late.

"Give me the pad back," he sings, a nasty grin on his face, before adjusting his grip so he holds my pad like a Frisbee and slinging it out of the window. I lunge for my pad but miss. I watch it sail out of the window and land in the distance with a thud, sending up a cloud of dust. If it hadn't been my notepad I would have mentally applauded his throwing skills. I turn back to face him, wanting to punch him but knowing I can't without turning the confrontation into a fight. I see Mitchell's expression of horror and I wonder how well he really knows his friends.

"Tony!" I see him flinch when Miss Green snaps his name. "Apologise to Rachel now."

"Sorry," he mutters, lowering his eyes and moving back to his seat like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"Was there anything important in the notebook?" asks Miss Green.

"Only a drawing and some notes I got off the internet," I say hastily. "I've got the notes saved on my laptop at home and I can always do the drawing again…"

"Don't worry," said Sara. "We'll be stopping in a minute and I'll take you to look for it."

"Are you sure?" I ask, astonished. "Is it OK for me to go in the enclosure? I mean, are people allowed?"

"As long as you're with a member of staff and you've got permission by staff, then yes," nods Sara. "As long as it's fine with your teacher?" She looks over at Miss Green.

"If Sara doesn't mind going with you, then yes it's fine by me," agrees my teacher.

"Thank you!" I say gratefully to Sara.

"You're welcome," she smiles back. "Hey Dave, are we OK to stop here?"

"Sure thing!" calls back the driver. The truck rumbles to a halt and Sara pulls out a ring of keys, unlocks the door and motions me towards it. I move forwards and descend the steps, jumping to the ground. Sara follows, locking the door behind her before joining me on the ground. I feel a buzz of excitement run through me, despite the situation, at being so close to the tigers. I should probably feel nervous, but I can't find the feeling.

"Did you see where your pad went?" asks Sara.

"I think it was a bit nearer the trees," I reply. "I'm not sure exactly where though."

"Shouldn't be too hard to find." She shrugs and sets off towards the trees, and I follow her. I'm pretty sure it was somewhere just to the right trees the tigers are underneath, so I leave her to cover the area closer to them and angle off slightly, scouring the ground around the edge of the trees unsuccessfully. I try to picture where my pad landed when Tony threw it and remember it landing near some rocks. I turn round and spot a clump of them nearer where Sara went, so I walk over to the trees, keeping a look out for any of the tigers in case I startled them.

I kneel down on the ground to scan for any signs of my book when Sara joins me. "I don't think it's in among the trees," she says, running a hand through her hair.

"I think it might be near some of these rocks, but I haven't found it yet," I reply.

"OK. How about I take this side and you take that side?" She motions to the rocks scattered around and I nod. We split again and I walk over to some of the large boulders. I walk between them all, scanning the ground carefully both sides of me as I go, but with no sign of my pad. I decide to go more slowly this time, crouching down in case I missed it the first time, and I move around for several minutes before noticing that a shadow has fallen over my foot. I glance up, expecting it to be Sara, and almost reel back when I see a mid-sized tiger standing near me. I sense instinctively that this tiger is female and wonder if she sees me as a threat to the cubs. I watch her but see no signs of her preparing to attack.

"Sara?" I call out, keeping my voice low and calm.

"Yes?"

"There's a tiger here. Is she going to see me as dangerous?" I feel slightly stupid asking the question, but I don't want to risk upsetting her.

I see Sara appear around one of the trees out of the corner of my eye but don't risk taking my eyes off the tiger. She is gazing back at me calmly. "That's Kara. She should be fine, she's just checking you out," Sara calls to me. "The tigers here are used to humans because of the way we've had to be involved in their care so it's unlikely she wants to attack you. She is one of the younger ones, though, and they're a bit more playful, so if she tries to nip you give her a smack on the nose. She doesn't mean any harm by it, that's just how tigers play when they're young." Now Sara has mentioned it, I can see that her paws look slightly oversized in comparison to her gangly legs, and the look in her eyes is more inquisitive than defensive. I nod to show I've heard her, and she disappears from the corner of my vision. It's then that I focus on the ground again and notice my pad about ten metres in front of me. I keep my gaze fixed on the tiger and move slowly forward, shuffling in my crouched position. Her eyes follow me but her body stays relaxed. I look away from her and fix my eyes on my notepad instead, and to my surprise hear the soft padding of paws following. I stop and glance round to see the young female following me a few paces behind. I smile and continue shuffling, hearing her walking along behind me. Part of my mind is overwhelmed by the situation and my closeness to a tiger- an actual, semi-feral tiger, and part of me wonders if she would let me touch her. The rational part of my mind pushes this away as a stupid idea.

I reach my notepad, pick it up and turn around to find tiger standing a couple of yards from me, still looking at me.

"Looks like you've made a friend!" calls Sara. I look around the tiger to see her grinning.

"She seems friendly enough," I call back, cautious to move in case I startle the tiger and unwilling to break the moment. "I've found my notepad."

"Great! I'm just going to check on the cubs. Keep moving slowly like you've been doing and you should be fine. I won't be far, so shout if you need me." Sara disappears into the trees and I look back at Kara.

"Hey girl," I murmur quietly. I shuffle forward slowly and slowly reach out with my hand, stopping it just in front of her nose. I hold my breath as she sniffs my hand a several times. She pauses for a few moments, then licks my hand with her rough tongue. I laugh with relief and her amber eyes move back to mine. "I need to go now," I tell her, even though she probably can't understand what I'm saying. She remains still as I pass and just as I think I'm clear of her, a small, sharp sting erupts in my arm. I glance down to see three small scratches from her claws and look back at her. She is looking at me with brightness in her eyes and her tail swishing from side to side.

"I'm sorry, Kara, I can't stay to play," I apologise, knowing immediately that she didn't mean to hurt me, she just wanted to catch my attention. The gaze she gives me back seems as if she is saying she understands and she bounds forward and licks my arm where she scratched me. Surprisingly, the stinging stops and she nudges me in the direction of the truck with her nose. I smile and stand up. "Bye, Kara. Maybe one day I'll be able to see you again." I walk back to Sara and she smiles when she sees me. For one terrifying heartbeat, I worry that she'll notice the scratches on my arm, but I don't dare to look at them or try to cover them up in case that draws her attention. Luckily, she doesn't seem to notice them and we begin the walk back to the truck. I remember the questions I wanted to ask and realise that most of them are already answered by what she told us earlier, but I think of one.

"So have you noticed anything unusual about the tigers due to the modified DNA?" I ask. "Besides the different coat colour in the cubs, I mean."

"We've measured their running speeds and they seem to be able to run faster and are more agile than normal South China Tigers, which is probably influenced by panther DNA, as they generally are more finely built than tigers. We also have yet to run any tests to confirm this, but they seem to be mysteriously quick healers since the modified DNA was inserted. We saw a couple of the males play fighting a few weeks back and they came away with a few scratches each. Shortly afterwards, one of the other members of our team observed one of the tigers licking his wounds and when he went over to inspect them, the wound looked a week old!"

"That's incredible," I said, surprised. Was that why Kara licked me, because she knew it would heal me, or just because that was what tigers did?

"I know," agreed Sara. "We're hoping to carry out some tests soon; imagine if we could use their saliva as a way to make some kind of solution to heal injuries in other animals! Although we've had some preliminary discussions and we're not sure what the consequences could be. There could be some potential for the modified DNA of the tigers to be present in the saliva and therefore transfer to animal being treated, and we're not sure what kind of effect this could have."

"Oh right." At that moment, we reach the truck and Sara unlocks the door. I walk up the stairs into the truck, sit down in my seat and continue sketching in my notepad.


	4. Chapter 4

"Rachel, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes!" my mum called up the stairs.

I groaned from my bed, rolled over and opened my bedroom door a crack. "I feel a bit funny, I think I'll skip dinner," I called back. Both my parents had still been at work when I got back from the trip, so I'd grabbed a can of Coke and a pack of crisps; since they both worked until about six, dinner was generally a late affair in our house. Surely you couldn't get food poisoning from a packet of crisps? Besides, I didn't exactly feel sick. More… off. I couldn't think of any way to describe it. I felt uncomfortable- my palms itched horribly, the cut on my arm throbbed and my vision kept slipping in and out of focus. Had I had an allergic reaction to something? Or what if the cut from Kara's claws had got infected? Should I tell my parents? Would I have to go to hospital?

"Honey?" My mum opened my bedroom door. "Oh Rachel! Are you feeling ill? Nauseous? Headache? Do you want some paracetamol?"

"No," I mumbled. "My hands are itchy. I cut myself at the zoo- I fell over and hurt myself while I was looking for my notepad in the tiger enclosure. I dropped it." I managed to piece together the half-lie in my foggy state."

My mum reached out and took my hand, turning it over. The palm was an angry red where I'd been digging my nails in in an effort to stop myself scratching the skin to pieces. "Where's the cut?"

"On my arm."

She pulls up the sleeve to reveal the cut. "Oh, it's only a little one, and it doesn't look infected or anything. You might have had an allergic reaction to something, sweetie, or it could be hay fever. Try and get some sleep, honey. You might feel better in the morning."

I nod and turn onto my back, giving up the battle to keep my eyes open. I feel my mum put her hand on my forehead before quietly leaving my room. After a few seconds, I hear her dialling a number on the home phone in my parents' bedroom and her telling somebody I won't be in school tomorrow before saying goodbye and putting the phone down. It can't be late, then, if she's managed to get hold of the secretary. She usually stays until about five, or later if there's something going on after school. With that thought, I lose consciousness and the blackness of sleep claims me.

I wake in the morning and turn over to look at the time. My digital clock blinks at me from the bookshelf on the opposite wall. 9:38. So even though I do feel better, it's too late to bother going to school now. Even though it is possible for me to get there, my only lesson of the day would be almost over by the time I could make it to the classroom. I turn back over and…

Wait a minute.

I turn back and stare at my clock. The numbers wink at me as clearly as daylight. I get up and rush into the bathroom and stare into the mirror- but no, I can't see the rims of my contact lenses. I didn't accidentally leave them in overnight, so how can I possibly have read my clock? I'm short-sighted; usually the numbers look all blurry and I have to concentrate on them for up to a minute before I can work out what they are. So why are they suddenly clear?

I look back into the mirror and gasp. How could I not have noticed before? My eyes… they've changed. Their usual hazel colour is gone and in its place is a golden yellow. _Tiger eyes._

_No!_

I run back into my bedroom, pull my animal encyclopaedia down from the shelf, scan the index and flick to the section on tigers. On the first page, a large colour photograph of a tiger's face stares back at me. Its eyes bore into mine, the yellow in its eyes more bronze than golden. But the point is still the same. I turn through the other pages, my brain barely comprehending what this means, and find a picture of a tigress with paler eyes. Like mine.

I put the book back and a sudden tingling begins in my hands. Before my newly-enhanced eyes, the skin on my fingers and palms begins to change. It becomes darker in colour, almost black, and becomes tougher and harder.

I've just grown pads on my hands.

Whoah. My head spins and I've got to sit down for a minute. I drop onto my bed and cradle my head in my hands. Just what is happening to me? Am I turning into a tiger? Has this kind of thing ever happened to _anyone _before? I take my hands away and breathe evenly to stop myself from freaking out, allowing my scientific side to kick in. Calm down Rachel. Assess the facts. What's happened to you?

You've got yellow eyes and improved vision. Tigers have round, black pupils surrounded by yellow irises, and their vision is undoubtedly more powerful than a normal human, let alone a short-sighted one.

You've got pads on your hands and feet. All cat species have pads on their paws to support their feet and cushion their load-bearing limbs.

I bite the inside of my mouth, like I often do when I'm thinking, and wince. The sour tang of blood flows onto my tongue and I move into the bathroom to inspect the damage in the mirror. I grab some toilet paper off the roll and dab the inside of my gums with it. I must have bitten my mouth really hard…

Oh. Another freaky thing to add to the list. My canines have grown sharper and longer- a tiger's canines can be as long as 74.5mm, and they've even been known to be up to 90mm in their total length. Thankfully mine aren't that long, but I have to open my mouth to almost yawning size before my top and bottom canines don't touch. Oh God, I hope nobody notices. They'll be calling me a vampire next, and there is no way I'm going to be associated with bloodsucking monsters for the rest of my life. Or- sorry, Edward, I do think you're hot and what your family does is cool- the Cullens. Crap- I've got yellow eyes too now.

"I'm not a bloody vampire!" I mutter under my breath. "I've just been scratched by a genetically modified tiger which has then licked the scratches to heal me and passed some of its DNA into me. Because that's _much _less weird."

I go into my bedroom, strip and throw my pyjamas onto my bed before pulling on a t-shirt and some jeans, before going downstairs and pouring myself a bowl of cereal, which I sit munching at the table. _So what are you going to do? _I ask myself. _For starters, there is no way I'm telling Mum or Dad about this. There's no way I'm telling _anyone. _They'd lock me up in the zoo with the tigers and carry experiments out on me. Although… should I tell Sara? The staff working with the tigers wanted to know if the use of their healing saliva would have any side effects. Clearly they do, so should I tell them? No, they can find out on their own. I need to figure out what's happened to me. Give it a few weeks and I'll think about it again then._

Suddenly, I remember a fact from my research and a smile spreads across my face. Tigers can run between thirty-five and forty miles an hour. If I've gained some of the physical traits of a tiger, who's to say I haven't got some of their other traits too?

I dash out of my bedroom, run downstairs and out of the front door, down the steps and onto the pavement. I live on York Street, which is around the corner from a very expensive street called Montagu Mansions, full of expensive looking flats. Our house is just around the corner, a cream front with a black front door nestled among the red brick of the Montagu flats and cream and grey of the rest of the street. Our house looks small and squashed in among the rest of the flats, but I think it's the best one- at least we've got two floors, which a lot of people don't have. Our road also connects to Baker Street, where Sherlock Holmes lives, which, being a huge Benedict Cumberbatch fan, is pretty awesome. We're also only a few streets away from Regent's Park, which hopefully shouldn't have too many dog walkers at half past ten on a weekday. Most of London's busy residents will be at work by now, so that's where I go, forcing myself to walk and resisting the urge to start running.

I pick the quietest spot and hide myself in the trees, just in case. I take a deep breath, rock on my toes, and start running.

To my surprise, I leap like a stone rocketing out of a slingshot- or should I say, a tiger leaping out of the bushes. I pick up speed but I can see the details of everything moving past me with startling clarity. Do I have normal human sight now, or is it more advanced? Surely everyday people who don't need glasses can't see like this? My instincts take over and I see a large, sturdy tree. Before I even know I've decided to do it, I've changed direction and leapt onto the tree. To my surprise, I cling there and realise that claws have extended from my hands. I shudder and retract them without thinking, sending myself tumbling to the ground; luckily only a few feet below me. I sit up, puzzled. Tigers aren't notorious for being good at climbing. They're better at running fast and swimming. Then I remember the DNA from the black leopards Sara talked about. Their climbing ability is unequalled among the wild cats, even when carrying a carcass, as is their stealth. Although clearly I have the talents of a wild cat, but not the instincts to go with them, as I'm pretty sure a black leopard wouldn't have released his hold like that without thinking about it. I'll have to practice.

I stand up and brush leaves and dirt off my clothes. I grin and burst into a run, jinking sideways through the trees and leaping fallen trunks and bushes with ease. I slow to a human jog as I get out onto the pavement and glance upwards at the buildings. I wonder… horizontal leaps by tigers have been recorded up to ten metres, although they're usually less than this. Some of the buildings in London are very close together, I'm sure I could make it if I tried…

My watch beeps and I glance at it. It's midday! I'm sure I remember Mum mentioning something about coming home to check on me in her lunch break before she left this morning! I start sprinting for home, resisting the urge to run faster and faster. Is this what tigers feel like when they're in wide open spaces? I restrict my running to human speeds and make it home in about five minutes, leaping the steps and unlocking the door. I close it behind me and listen for movement. Nobody's home, so I go into the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. All the running has made me hungry and my stomach growls as I grab the butter and ham out of the fridge.

I've just finished my sandwiches when I hear a key turn in the front door. I open the pack of crisps and try to act casual as my mum walks up the stairs and knocks on my door.

"Come in!" I call.

"How are you feeling?" she asks anxiously as she opens the door and sits down on my bed.

"Much better," I say, hoping she doesn't notice the colour of my eyes and trying not to smile too much so she doesn't see my teeth.

"Hmm." She puts her hand on my forehead. "Well you certainly feel cooler than you did yesterday. Have you had any fresh air?"

"I went out for a walk to the park earlier," I half-lie. After all, I did go to the park; I just didn't do much walking.

"Good," she smiles. "Well, I'd better get back to work. Remember not to answer the door to anyone unless it's one of your friends, and try not to get into trouble."

I roll my eyes but laugh. "Yes Mum, I won't Mum. See you later."

"See you later."

I wait for the sound of my Mum's car driving away before leaping up, checking I have my keys and phone and running out the front door. Time to find the closest buildings in London and practice some jumping.

"Wahoo!" I scream as I leap into the air, my arms flailing and my hair blowing out behind me. I plummet towards the roof of the next building and land in a crouch. It's amazing how I can leap so far and so high, yet land with the gracefulness of a tiger, barely making a sound. I balance on the balls of my feet before running forward again. As I near the next building I realise it's way too high for me to leap to, but my body adjusts itself and I take off, flinging myself at the side of the stone expanse. My claws slide out of my fingers and dig into the grooves in the brick, securing me to the side of the building. My shoes don't afford me as much grip and I resist the urge to kick them off. I'm two hundred feet above street level, and below me is a road busy with cars and buses. I'd probably never find them again, so I leave them on.

A delicious scent suddenly reaches my nose and my mouth begins to water. I glance down and see a burger stand further along the street underneath me, and a man stands nearby eating a bacon roll. The temptation to swing down there and tear it out of his hands almost overwhelms me and my body shifts to move…

Whoah. I need to stop this. I tear my eyes away from the burger stand and breathe deeply, forcing my thoughts to focus on something else. If I appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the roll off him before running away at superhuman speeds, I'd attract attention and people would see me. There might even be a chance someone would recognise me, or somebody could report me to a news station, and then my cover would be blown. I need to keep my abilities a secret if I want to live what appears to be a normal human life. Besides, if I end up locked up in a lab, I'll never be able to go to university and help save the lives of abandoned animals like those dogs. I sigh and clamber up the building to the roof, avoiding the windows in case anybody happens to be standing on the other side.

I stand and look around until I locate the streets near my home before taking off, using the rooftops to get home without being seen. I climb down the side of the Montagu flats and leap the rest of the way when I get close enough before disappearing inside my house and up to my room and collapsing on my bed. Exhaustion from all the running and jumping sets in and before I know it I've fallen asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

I blink sleepily and hear the click of the front door shutting. Are my parents really home already? I sit up and check my clock- it's half past six! I've been asleep for almost five hours! I stand up and run the creases out of my clothes with my hands before brushing my hair quickly to get rid of the bedraggled look. I don't want my parents to worry about me and start asking questions. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to lie to them, but the alternative was telling them about my newfound powers. That was no alternative at all.

I go downstairs and see my dad with his arms around my mum. Her head is resting on his shoulder and Dad is stroking her hair with his hand, his chin on her head. Reassuring her. My recent discovery disappears from my mind.

"Mum?" My voice almost cracks. "Mum, what's happened?"

Her face shifts slightly towards me and I can see tear tracks down her cheeks, but she doesn't say anything. Dad looks at me for a moment, as if he's deciding how much to tell me.

"A colleague of hers from work went missing," he says quietly. "She went out at half twelve on her lunch break to buy some food from a shop a couple of streets away. It got to half one, the end of her lunch, and wasn't back. The others working thought she might be late, because of losing track of the time like everyone does, or maybe the streets were just busy. By half past two, though, she still wasn't back, so the manager on duty in the office rang the police."

"Beverly was never late," said my mum, her voice hoarse. "She was always on time. People used to joke about it in the office. She was the most reliable one there. She was one of the editors; they were talking about promoting her to front page editor next month. And she's been my friend for years. I met her the first day I started working there and she came over and introduced herself." Tears start running down her face again and she stops talking. Her breath catches as she tries to stop herself from sobbing in front of me.

"Oh, Mum." I put my arms around her and Dad. "There's a chance they'll find her- the police have sniffer dogs that will be able to track where she's been. And they'll put out missing persons ads for her. I'm sure they'll put one in all the papers. You could find a photo of her and take it in tomorrow." My mum works for the London Evening Standard, collecting the photographs for the general news section and making sure they're positioned correctly on the right page before they get passed to the editors and printed off.

"Good idea, Rachel." My dad smiles at me. "I'm going to get your mum a cup of tea and make dinner tonight. Don't get behind with your homework."

"Just try not to burn it," I tease him. "Don't worry, I won't."

"Very funny." He rolls his eyes and I jog up the stairs to start my homework. I usually wait until after dinner, but I want to get it done as quickly as possible. The sooner I finish it, the sooner I'll be able to start looking into Beverly's disappearance. _Don't worry Mum, if the police haven't already found her, then I promise I will._

Later that evening, I grab my coat and head into the living room.

"Mum, Dad, I'm just off out for an hour or so to meet up with a couple of friends. I promise I won't be back later than nine."

"Okay sweetie, take care," says my dad. "And don't go off anywhere on your own. We don't want to have the police out searching for you too." I can hear the warning tone in his voice all too clearly, and part of me feels guilty for the lie I'm telling. But I have to do this.

"I won't, Dad. See you later."

"See you later."

I leave the house and walk briskly along the street. The evening has brought cooler air with it and a breeze lifts my hair off my back. I visited Beverly with Mum last year to drop off Christmas presents for her and her husband and I'm fairly sure I can find my way there again.

As I walk, I take in the environment around me using my new senses. My eyes register every movement, my sharp ears pick up every sound, from the squeaking of mice sheltering in gutters to the individual footsteps of other people walking along the pavement. My nose twitches and I sort through the scents I can smell- the obvious ones like the tangy smell left by the rain, the toxic fumes of fuel from passing vehicles, and the subtle ones undetectable by normal humans- the faint scent of chicken dinner eaten by the family of the house I'm passing, the whiffs of various air fresheners from the passing cars and the smell of drying sweat on the men's shirts from the sunshine earlier in the day. I wrinkle my nose. That last scent doesn't smell particularly nice. But before I dwell on it, I realise I've reached the corner of Beverly's street. I head down it, keeping my ears open for any unusual sounds. The danger of the situation hits home and I wonder if her kidnapper- if there is one- is watching her house right now. Waiting to approach the husband? A ransom demand? The other alternative- that she was kidnapped and murdered- appeals even less and I try not to think about it.

Walking down the quiet residential street, I suddenly feel ridiculous. Like a small child playing at detectives. But I have to continue. For Mum and for Beverly. I reach the building Beverly lives in and glance upwards. She lived- _lives_- in the third floor flat with her husband, David. My heart leaps- there's a window open on the third floor, so David must be home. Also, that means easy entry for me. At least I don't have to try and break in, or feel guilty about doing it. I ring the doorbell for flat 3.

"Hello?" David's voice echoes through the speaker next to the door, accompanied by a buzz.

"Hi, David. It's Rachel, Sally Parker's daughter."

"Hi Rachel! Come on in." The door clicks and I push it open. I walk hesitantly up the staircase, wondering if this was a mistake. Maybe I should have brought some flowers- but that's stupid, it's not like Beverly's died.

At the top of the third flight of stairs, David is waiting for me. I smile at him and walk into the flat. He closes the front door and follows me down the hallway. "Would you like anything? Tea, coffee? A soft drink?"

"Tea would be great, thanks," I reply. He passes into the kitchen and fills the kettle with water, setting it to boil before coming back into the lounge.

"Please, sit." He indicates the sofa and sits on the one opposite me. "I think I can guess why you're here."

"I just wanted to ask if you'd heard anything about Beverly," I say honestly.

"No." He sighs, and I catch a look of pain flash across his face. "The police have been keeping me updated, but no signs of her yet. They're canvassing the people who live where they think she might have disappeared and appealing for witnesses, but nobody's come forward yet."

"I'm sorry. My Mum's pretty upset. She could barely talk when she got home, and Dad had to explain what had happened."

"Don't worry about it." David attempts a smile at me. "It's nice of you to come round. I've been going crazy stuck here on my own. Bev was always so good at calming me down. Without her, I just feel… like a ball of string that might unravel at any moment. I don't know what's going to happen in the next hour, the next minute, even. I keep hoping I've just had some crazy nightmare and I'll wake up and everything will all be back to normal."

The kettle finishes boiling and I get up to make the tea, sensing David needs to keep talking.

"It's awful waiting by the damn phone, hoping and praying any second it's going to ring and the police will tell me they've found her," he says quietly.

I bring the two mugs and a box of biscuits into the kitchen and set them on the coffee table between us. "I know I can't begin to imagine how bad it must feel," I admit. "But we'll help you get through this and we'll do everything to help the police find Beverly again. Have they brought a sniffer dog round yet?" I dunk a bourbon into my mug of tea and crunch on it before taking a sip.

"No, they're going to bring one round tomorrow," said David. "I've got Bev's favourite scarf and a top of hers ready, so they shouldn't find it too hard to get her scent." He twists his hands anxiously.

"I'm sure everything will be okay," I say reassuringly, although I wish inside that I could feel as sure as I sound. I drink the rest of my tea and glance at my watch. "I'd better go. My parents want me back by nine."

"I'll drive you," says David. "It's too dark and late to be walking these streets by yourself."

"Are you sure…?"

"Definitely," he says firmly. "After all, it's not as if I've got anything else to do this evening."

Five minutes later, David pulls up outside our front door and I jump out before bending back down to look through the open window. "Thanks for driving me. Hang in there about Beverly."

"I'll try," he smiles before winding down the window and joining the sparse evening traffic. I turn round and jump all four steps before unlocking the door.

"Hi Mum, hi Dad!" I call.

"Hi honey," they call back. I head into the front room and join them on the sofa. "How was- who did you go and see?"

I decide it's best to tell them the truth about where I've been. "Emily, my friend from primary school. She forgot she had a meal out with her family this evening." Which was true; she did have a meal tonight. But I only knew this through Facebook rather than any conversation with her. Like I've said, I don't really have any friends. Me and Emily stopped talking long ago- a result of going to different high schools and gradually growing apart. "So I stopped by to see David instead. He hasn't heard anything more from the police about Beverly." I look at Mum cautiously, hoping she's not about to get upset again. But she's got a brave face on and she smiles wanly at me.

"Never mind, I'm sure they'll find her soon," says Dad. "We just have to keep hoping. Maybe we could go and visit him tomorrow, Sal?"

Is it a husband thing to shorten their wife's name to its first three letters?

"Sounds like a good idea," she says, trying to sound cheerful. "I think I might go to bed. It's been a long day." She yawns.

"I will do too, I think," agrees Dad. "See you in the morning Rachel."

"Night," I reply, following them up the stairs and going into my bedroom. I change into my pyjamas and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I almost go to remove my contact lenses, then remember I don't need them anymore. I go back to my room and switch the light out before jumping into bed and pulling the duvet around me like a cocoon. I'm going to need as much sleep as I can get so that after school tomorrow I can go out and try to find Beverly. I got a good whiff of her scent while I was at her and David's flat tonight, so if there's any traces of her they shouldn't be too hard to find. At least not for me. Maybe I should consider hiring myself out to the police as a human sniffer dog. Ha ha, Rachel, hilarious, I tell myself before falling asleep.

At school the next day, I drop by the technology department at break time and ask Mrs Longley, the head of Textiles and my form tutor in year nine, if there are any spare samples of material I can have, and that I can give her some money for them if she wants. I cross my fingers behind my back for luck as I tell her a tiny white lie, that my mother wants them to try making some of those do-it-yourself t-shirts you can buy and decorate yourself. I feel like sighing with relief when she smiles at me and says yes before leading me to the storeroom joined to the classroom. Hundreds of different kinds of material are lined up on shelves, and even more are jumbled together in boxes, remnants left over from used pieces by students.

"Any swatches from the shelves are two pounds per square, and the pieces in the boxes are fifty pence," says Mrs Longley. "I need to set up for my next class, so I'll leave you to it. Make sure you aren't late to your lesson," she adds sternly.

"Don't worry, I've got frees next," I assure her before turning to the shelves of material, which are organised by colour. The rainbow of colours in front of me tempts me and I wish I had time to delve through all the different types of material, but I know what I'm looking for. I start in the black section, hoping to find some kind of stretchy material, that is flexible and easy to move quickly in, and I'm in luck- some of the upper sixth-formers are designing swimming costumes as their final pieces. Thankfully, the squares of material are large, but I take four just to make sure I'll have enough. I then move to the boxes of used material and grab a couple of flowery patterned pieces, the kind of thing I imagine my mum would choose if she were making her own t-shirts. I'm about to dig the money out of my purse when a flash of golden-orange colour catches my eye. I reach into the box and pull out a jagged square of soft, fluffy material and an idea springs into my mind. I grin and rifle through the boxes until I've found all the pieces of it, add another couple of pound coins to my total and leave the money tucked safely next to Mrs Longley's bag with a note before leaving through the door between the storeroom and the hallway rather than disturbing her class.

Excitement bubbles through me and I have to stop myself skipping down the hallway to the smallest Textiles room, where only sixth-formers are allowed and the best sewing machines are. It's rarely ever full and there are usually only a couple of students in here at a time, as most of the sixth-formers prefer a larger working space over better machines. I enter and find the room completely empty, which is a relief, as part of me was worried somebody would ask what I was doing, especially if they realised I wasn't actually a Textiles student.

I sit down at the machine tucked into the furthest corner and silently thank my mum for teaching me how to sew- both by hand and by machine- when I was in my early teenage years. I begin by getting a piece of chalk from the tub next to me and marking out the outlines for a long-sleeved top, fitted trousers and a mask on the black material with the help of a measuring tape before repeating the task on the other two pieces of material so that have the front and back. I then switch the sewing machine on, insert a spool of black thread and start with the mask, the easiest piece, placing the front and back together with the outsides touching like my mum taught me, and begin guiding the needle along the dotted lines I've drawn. I settle into a rhythm and sew the whole way round except for the bottom of the neck. I switch off the machine and remove the mask from underneath the needle, turning it inside out to hide the seams and smiling. It's certainly not a masterpiece, but it'll serve its purpose, and it'll look better once I've finished it.

An hour and a half later, and my costume is finished. The top and trousers are done and using the golden-orange material, I've added small stripes across the forehead and cheekbones of the mask, the arms and legs of the main costume, and bigger ones across the trunk of the top. The short fluff on the material gives it an extra feline look, exactly like a tiger, and I grin. There's only one thing missing now, so I run back down the hallway to the storeroom, rifle around in the box of spare material until I find the same stretchy material as the black but in a shiny golden-orange colour and dash back to my costume. I mark and cut out four shapes in the material before sewing them onto the mask above and below the eyes. Just as I finish, the bell rings for lunch and I fold up my costume, tuck it neatly into my bag and make sure I've left everything as I found it before leaving and melting into the flow of students leaving classrooms.

The rest of the day flew by as I forced myself to focus on the work Miss Green sets us in Biology in an effort to take my mind off what I'm going to do this evening. However, after a short recap on the topic of our previous lesson, Miss Green announces that we will be starting on our individual projects based around the subject of our choice, and I remember all my research on London Zoo and the revelation of the tigers, and those efforts become useless. How am I supposed to try and forget about my extraordinary talents when I've planned to do a whole project about the animals that are responsible for them? I clench my fists nervously and have to stop myself crying out in pain- tensing up has caused my claws to slide out and they are now digging into the palms of my hands. I open them out under the desk and glance down nervously. Four brilliant red dots mark each palm now, but as I watch the blood flow stops and the skin heals over, leaving four pale scars. That's going to take some getting used to, but at least it means I'm not dripping blood all over my desk as I work.

"Rachel, have you started your project yet?" asks Miss Green, and I realise she must have been making her way around the class while I was busy trying to relax.

"Not yet," I admit, slightly ashamed. Ordinarily I'd at least have written the introduction by now, but I've had a few distractions. Today I'm joining the majority of the class who haven't written anything either, but I can't exactly tell Miss Green why I've been busy. Yeah, those tigers at the zoo? They gave me special powers and now I'm part feline, so I've been practising my powers rather than writing my project. Yeah, sure she'd believe that.

"Don't look so concerned," smiled Miss Green. "You're still ahead of the rest of the class, and it's only been a couple of days since the trip. From what I've seen of your research you're on the right track so you've got plenty of time to start during today's lesson. I'll check back a few minutes before the end."

"Okay," I nod, pulling out my research, notepad and pencil case. I dig out my favourite pen and begin drafting an introduction, explaining the general purpose of the zoo, the reason for our visit and the different animals they have there, plus some information about their involvement in the conservation of endangered animals. I soon get into my working mode and my thoughts focus solely on my project and the jumble of handwritten and typed notes in front of me.


End file.
